


It takes some time and effort, like all good things do.

by Werepirechick



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: 32 isn't technically their bro so they end up adopting him, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe, Awkwardness, Canon-Typical Violence, Citadel of Ricks, Combat Morty AU, Dimension Travel, Family Fluff, Gen, Military Training, Past Child Abuse, Rick in this universe is such a grandpa, Unconventional Families, but idk... 32 turned out mostly okay, figuring out how families work is mostly what this is, kinda twitchy though, past training really, since he probably won't be going back to that, tfw you're assigned your new sibling, that is very much abuse, training children to fight from toddler age is abuse alright
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:23:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8594302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werepirechick/pseuds/Werepirechick
Summary: A dimension where Rick never left Beth and her mom, instead growing into a nice pudgy #1 grandpa who doesn't really go on adventures and mostly only does safe science. The Beth and Jerry in this dimension never have Morty, and instead end up having another daughter a few years later. Since this Rick is Morty-less, and what the council deems as “unfit to protect his dimension”, he ends up assigned Combat Morty number 32. Number 32 was raised in the citadel and is very good at his job, but is also very weirded-out by normal social conventions and a bit of a paranoid hoodlum.
Its an adjustment for everyone involved.
(A series of ficlets based on cannibalshark's Combat Morty AU.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written a Rick and Morty fic before, but I've been eyeing this AU since I first saw it a long while ago.  
> Full credit, excluding the writing done here, goes to cannibalshark on tumblr.   
> (Go check out their artwork and everything, its all really good and inspired this AU ficlet.)
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

32 slid his hand into his glove, covering his tan skin with the thick black fabric. He repeated the action again with his left hand, tugging the glove tight to his palm. Bending down, he pulled on his steel-toed boots one after another.

Standing straight again, he examined himself in the locker room mirror. White coat, pristine. Decals and identification tags, in place and visible. Gloves, boots, belt; check, and in presentable condition. His ear identification tag glinted in the lights, the stark red _‘32’_ ear clip standing out from his overall appearance; as it should.

Time to go meet the Ricks then, and following that, his newly assigned guardian.

32 hadn’t had a Rick before, not one that was specifically his.

It would be an interesting experience, especially considering that his new Rick was considered an invalid compared to the majority of Ricks.

32 wasn’t entirely sure _why_ this Rick was an invalid, the council officer that had come to inform him of his new posting hadn’t explained properly.

32 would just have to roll with whatever came, and rely on his training to keep him alive.

The portal was already open when he stepped out of the locker room, a cluster of Ricks in uniform milling around the opening in the long hallway. A dozen or so Combat Mortys clustered around them, also awaiting their placements. 32 stopped in front of the highest ranking Rick, marked by the badges on his uniform.

“J-just go through the portal, number thirty-two. Y-your new Rick is waiting on the other side,” The Rick said, gesturing towards the portal without looking away from the conversation between two other Ricks. 32 nodded, and saluted once before walking through the green tear in space.

A split second of eye-blinding green, and 32 stepped out into his newly assigned dimension.

There were three Ricks in the room, which appeared to be a basement if the washers and shelves of non-perishables were anything to go by. Two of the Ricks were familiar, their uniforms standing out in the semi-dark of the basement.

The third Rick however… he didn’t look like any Rick 32 had ever seen.

Average range of skin tone, healthy blue hair color; all very familiar. However, the rest of the Rick’s appearance was irregular. A sweater rather than a lab coat, and… was that an extra amount of weight around his middle? Ricks were typically thin and wiry, gaunt from their worldly experiences. (Drinking and drug habits, really.)

The differences didn’t end there. Glasses? Slippers on his feet?? Hair long enough to put in a pony-tail???

The Rick was smiling too. A friendly smile.

32 narrowed his eyes, sizing up the abnormal Rick.

He’d never seen a Rick make that expression without good reason. Talking to other Ricks rarely warranted an expression like so; instead, it was mostly a trade of curt nods and straight forward words.

32 shook off his confusion. He didn’t have time to wonder about that; he had to report in for his assigned services.

He crossed the room, the heels of his boots barely touching down with his quick pace. He stopped in front of the three Rick’s, saluting and announcing himself. “Combat Morty number thirty-two, sector four bunking, reporting for active duty, sirs!”

“A-at ease thirty-two, there’s not a lot of need for formalities with this as-s-signment,” One of the Ricks in uniform responded distractedly, focused on the device in his hands. 32 couldn’t tell what it was, since Combat Morty training didn’t cover that sort of technology unless you were promoted.

“Sir.” 32 replied, shifting into a casual at-attention stance.

“Anyways, this guy here,” The Rick continued, gesturing at the abnormally soft seeming Rick. “He’s your new Rick. Congratulations. Don’t piss yourself with j-joy or anything.”

“Is there really need for language like that? My granddaughters are upstairs right now,” The soft Rick said in an oddly calm tone. 32 shifted his eyes over to the Rick he’d been assigned to protect; waiting for orders or instructions.

The Rick stared back at him, looking confused for some reason. He leaned over to the second Rick, the one who hadn’t spoken yet, and whispered, “Why is he staring at me like that?”

The secondary uniformed Rick rolled his eyes, scoffing. “He’s w-waiting for orders, _duh_. Didn’t you read the pamphlet w-we gave you?”

“Oh, uh, not really? I only skimmed the beginning parts…”

“For fuck’s sake, can’t you do anything right?”

“I don’t appreciate that tone, o-or those words. You only gave me one night to get used to this; you can’t expect me to-”

“Blah blah blah _, I don’t care_ ,” The uniformed Rick said, cutting the abnormal one off. “Look, we’ve got another four Morty’s to place today, and we already w-w-wasted enough time here as it is. Take your Combat Morty, read the fucking pamphlet, and fuck off, alright?”

“I- well, I guess-”

“Great. Hopefully we never meet again,” The uniformed Rick shoved another pamphlet into the abnormal Rick’s hands, and then started back towards the portal; the other Rick following along silently. “And th-thirty-two? You’re officially designated as this dimension’s Morty. Don’t let this idiot or his dimension die.”

“Sir yes sir!” 32 replied, snapping a final salute to the Rick’s as they left. The portal closed behind them, dimming the area back into normal basement lighting. In the re-established dimness, 32 returned to standing at attention; waiting for Soft Rick to give him his first orders.

Said Soft Rick was fumbling with the thick pamphlet, flipping through it with jerky movements. Internally, 32 sighed in annoyance. A part of him would have preferred to have been assigned to a more competent Rick, though there was hardly a Rick in existence that fell below the genius line for intelligence.

It would be just his luck that he got one of the rare ones.

“This seems like a lot of… over the top protocols and nonsense…” Soft Rick muttered, flipping through the pages of the pamphlet. He sighed, and snapped it shut. “Well. If I really have to give orders and instructions, I guess… I order you to follow me, and come meet the rest of the family…?”

“Sir yes sir,” 32 replied, immediately snapping to full attention. A strange order, but one none-the-less. He could work with that.

“Oh, please, call me by my name,” Soft Rick said, an awkward smile twitching on his lips. “S-sir is for work partners, and I’m technically your grandfather… though I suppose not in this universe…”

32 pursed his lips. Was that an order as well? It wasn’t quite phrased like one, but close enough…

“Oh! Wait,” Soft Rick tapped his forehead, like a gentle slap for himself. “We weren’t properly introduced yet. Hello Morty, my name is Rick Sanchez. It’s nice to meet you.”

32 stared at the hand Soft Rick was holding out to him.

What. What did he want.

Oh wait. Right.

32 stuck out his hand as well, and shook once; imitating the gesture he’d occasionally seen Rick’s exchanging in the citadel. "Please call me by my number digits, sir. It prevents confusion in the event that there are multiple Morty's on the premises."

“O-oh, um, alright. Welcome to our house, uh, thirty-two."

32 released Soft Rick’s hand, and resumed his prior stance. Soft Rick stared at 32 for another moment, and then seemed to shake himself back to the present. “Right, off to meet my daughter and her family. Come along then...”

32 waited for Soft Rick to walk ahead of him, then fell into step a few feet behind; as protocol demanded. They walked up the steps from the basement, Soft Rick turning off the light switch as he passed.

Without intending too, once they’d stepped into the brightly lit kitchen of the floor above, 32 got a bit ahead of Soft Rick’s pace. He didn’t see the movement out of the corner of his eye, and jumped when something landed on his shoulder; spinning and preparing himself for a fight.

Soft Rick was staring at him again, hand still half raised in the air. 32 darted a glance at the hand, evaluating what was happening. Was he checking 32’s reflexes? Was this a test of some sort? Was he supposed to prove his skills through combat with his new Rick?

"Whoa- whoa, sorry, I was just patting you on the back," Soft Rick said, holding up his hands in defense. (or surrender??) "Didn't mean to startle you. Sorry."

32 relaxed his stance, sliding back into casual at-attention. He squinted at Soft Rick, trying to get a read on what was happening _now_. He was apologizing, but for what? Rick’s didn’t apologize, not to Morty’s. And he hadn’t even offended 32; it was perfectly standard to test your combat Morty’s abilities before approving him.

32 waited for Soft Rick to make the next move.

It was a long, dragging pause, before Soft Rick coughed awkwardly, and rubbed the back of his neck seemingly because of stress. "Okay! That… definitely happened. Um. S-so. Meeting the family. Uh, come along... thirty-two?"

32 didn’t respond beyond a nod, still trying to figure out what had just happened between the two of them. Patting on the back… how strange.

32 didn’t move again until Soft Rick did, following his new ward into the living room. 32 stepped into the room, and his eyes were drawn over to the other four individuals sitting on the couch and chairs. A Beth, a Jerry, a Summer, and…

Oh joy. There was a little girl in this Smith family. He supposed that was why there was no Morty here.

Something brushed against his legs, and 32 almost grabbed his blaster from its holster on his hip. He looked down, only just pausing the action of his reflexive grab.

A cat too. Wonderful.

“E-everyone, this is… thirty-two,” Soft Rick said, gesturing to 32. “He’ll be protecting us from now on, against… things, apparently.”

“Greetings, Smith family,” 32 said, as he placed his hands behind his back, and stood with a straight spine. He ignored the cat still winding around his legs. “I look forwards to protecting your lives and limbs from extraterrestrial enemies, as well as terra based attackers.”

The family of four stared at him in silence, a variety of expressions on their faces, until-

The small girl giggled, hiding her mouth behind her hands. “He talks weird, I like him.”

Internally, once again, 32 sighed. Of course she did.

If only he’d been assigned to an outpost on an active war front; things were much simpler when it was just point and shoot and follow orders.

Well. He’d just have to make the best of his new situation. At least until he or this Rick were killed, of course.

The Smith’s were still staring at him. Maybe he should add an expression to his expression.

32 attempted a polite smile.

It made the Summer wrinkle her nose and glare at him, and the Beth and Jerry give him nervous glances. The small girl just giggled again.

32 stopped pushing his lips to form the smile.

This assignment was going to be a difficult one.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What... are those."

"What… are those.” Thirty-two said, staring at Summer’s new shoes.

Summer rolled her eyes, mostly at Autumn’s screamed _“HE SAID THE MEME”_ from the top of the stairs.

“They’re shoes,” Summer replied, putting one hand on her hip and looking down at her alternate universe brother. “ _Nice_ shoes. Ones that cost me a full month’s allowance.”

Thirty-two narrowed his suspicious little eyes, scrutinizing Summer’s new shoes.

“What do you have against Ugg boots exactly,” Summer asked in a dry tone. She was going out soon, and she didn’t have time to deal with her weird alter brother from another universe.

Thirty-two – which was the most ridiculous name Summer had ever heard- raised an eyebrow as he looked up at her.

“Do you want my honest opinion, Summer?” Thirty-two asked, his tone equally dry and eyes still narrowed.

Summer narrowed her own eyes at Thirty-two.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

Completely straight faced, Thirty-two replied, “"Those are the ugliest shoes I have ever seen."

A beat, and then Autumn started shrieking from the second floor; her adolescent laughter making Summer’s eye twitch even worse.

Thirty-two’s expression hadn’t flinched in the slightest, even in the face of Summer’s glare.

Nervy little prick.

Summer turned her head, and hollered down the hall. _“Grandpa Rick!_ Can't you return him and get a different one? This one’s rude!”

"Mmmmnooope, nope I cannot,” Came her grandfather’s reply, the sound of him puttering around in the kitchen accompanying it. “He's a person Summer, we can't buy and trade him like a toy."

Summer glanced back at Thirty-two, his expression still indifferent. She huffed, grumbling under her breath, _“Well_ he _seems fine with it…”_

"Actually, sof- _Rick_ is incorrect,” Thirty-two said suddenly. Summer looked over at him, and was met with yet another blank and indifferent expression. Thirty-two continued, seemingly without noticing Summer’s confusion. “I can be traded for another, more sufficient combat Morty at any time this dimension's Rick so desires.”

Summer stared at him, the unnerved feeling from when she’d first met her alter brother returning. “Wait, I was just joking.”

"It’s not a joke. In fact, there's a half off sale every second Thursday for combat Morty's,” Thirty-two said blithely, causing further horror to creep up Summer’s spine. Thirty-two finally seemed to notice her stare, and shrugged. “If that is not enough, I was given a coupon book in my field kit as well. Ten tickets and you can get five spare Morty’s.”

Summer’s eyes flickered over to the red ear tag Thirty-two always insisted on wearing, even if it tacky and resembled the type people put on animals to keep track of them.

It suddenly seemed a lot more sinister than the first time he’d explained it.

_(“You’re not really going to wear that silly ear tag all the time, are you?” Summer’s mom had questioned, right after they’d given Thirty-two some actual clothes instead of his uniform._

_Thirty-two had given them all a confused and vaguely offended look. “How else would my dead body be identified?”)_

Summer had thought he was joking, trying to mess with them.

Apparently he hadn’t been.

“Soooo… I could have _five_ more brothers?” Autumn asked chirpily from the stairway.

Thirty-two glanced up at their house’s youngest occupant, tilting his head slightly as he nodded. “I suppose so, if Rick really felt like using up all his coupon’s at once. Sounds wasteful to me though.”

Autumn hummed thoughtfully, while Summer tried to wrap her head around that.

She’d known there were more of Thirty-two, known that there were hundreds of other ‘combat Morty’s’ through the green portals he’d come from, but hearing it put like that…

Summer shook her head.

Time to leave.

“I’m done,” Summer said suddenly, grabbing her purse and coat from the rack and heading for the door. “I am a hundred percent done. I’m talking to exactly none of you until dinner tonight. Goodbye and don’t call me.”

“Oh- Summer wait-!” Her grandfather called down the hall. “Wasn’t I giving you a l-lift to the mall-?”

“Nope. I’m walking. Bye grandpa, bye Autumn,” Summer opened the door, and walked out of her crazy psycho fest of a home; her feet kept warm against the fall time cold by her incredibly fashionable shoes that exactly no one could tell her otherwise about.

She slammed the door behind her, and shoved her hands into her coat pockets.

Ugh, family.

Ugh, _Thirty-two_.

Summer strode away from her home, and didn’t look back.

The things Thirty-two had said stayed with her the whole evening, despite her best attempts to forget them.

 

 

 

 

Rick sighed, hearing his eldest granddaughter’s exit rattle the front windows.

He could hear Autumn blowing a petulant raspberry, and her little feet pattering down the stairway. “ _Bleeeeeh_ , Summer’s so weird about you, Thirty-two. I think having a bunch of you would be cool, but I guess she doesn’t.”

“Am I an insufficient number of protectors? I personally think I’ve been doing a good job thus far.”

“Pfft, _no_ , you’ve been really great! You shot that hobo guy and everything!”

“That man was no hobo; he was a terra infiltrator looking to claim a bounty on your grandfather’s head.”

“Plus you say funny stuff. I like that.”

“Your grandfather is worth trillions to the correct people, dead or alive. I don’t see how this is funny to you.”

“Heh, see? Funny stuff.”

Rick pulled off his glasses, and put them down on the counter next to his sandwich plate. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, listening to his granddaughter chatter away happily at Thirty-two, and Thirty-two’s deadpan answers.

A coupon book. He had a coupon book for more of him.

And he didn’t see anything wrong with that.

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose, and sighed long and hard.

To quote something his younger- and significantly more wild- self had once said: What the fresh fuckering hell was this complete fucking mess supposed to be?

“He can be traded, for a more sufficient version- are you fucking kidding me?” Rick muttered under his breath.

Thirty-two was sixteen, _maybe_. And he’d spent his whole life being trained to be a soldier for complete mad men. He was fully ready to die at any moment, and he in fact _expected_ to die at any moment.

Worse yet, he expected to be replaced right afterwards. Maybe even before, on the whim of ‘a’ Rick.

Rick released his nose, and picked up his sandwich. He bit into the egg salad and tomato on rye, and chewed despite his appetite having vanished.

The depth that Thirty-two’s depraved history got deeper every time he revealed something like this. Offhandedly, and without seeing how _wrong_ it was to ordinary people.

Rick took another bite of his tasteless sandwich, chewed, and swallowed.

Well. Upside to this at least, he wasn’t letting the kid out of his sight. The other versions of him would have to pry his grandson from his cold, dead hands before he let Thirty-two go back to that insanity.

Rick picked up his glasses with his free hand, slid them back onto his face, and went to join his grandchildren in the living room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 32 doesn't appreciate typical earth fashion. (tho tbh neither do I)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I. I am happy you’re unhurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not dead! just distracted!

Autumn huddled around her knees, trying to be quiet like her teacher had told her to be. Her friends beside her were also doing their best to be quiet, but she could hear one of them was crying.

Their teacher hushed him gently, and then more silence fell over them. In the dark of the closet, Autumn wondered when the police were going to come for them. Or her family.

Someone would come. Her teacher said that someone would. They had to, it was their job to rescue kids being held hostage. And Autumn’s family wouldn’t leave them there. Not her mom, not her grandpa or sister, and definitely not her sort of big brother.

There were a lot of really scary men in her school right then. A lot of scary men with guns, who wouldn’t hesitate to kill any of the students they found.

Autumn had seen this in a movie one time. It’d been a lot cooler then.

Now she just wanted to go back to class and have things be normal again. Or go home. She would have liked to go home even more.

She jerked her head up as the door started rattling, and Autumn’s heart thudded in her ears as she tried to keep quiet. Her friends and teacher were all silent too, maybe out of will power, maybe out of fear.

The handle turned red hot, and melted away.

The door was kicked in, and light flooded the small space.

Autumn blinked in the sudden blindness, and flinched away from the shadow that stood in the threshold of their hiding place. Everyone started screaming, including Autumn.

“Shut up, SHUT UP. You’re going to get us all killed!” Someone hissed at them. Then, “Autumn? Get up. I’m here for you.”

Autumn shut up, blinked, and realized she knew that voice.

“Thirty-two?”

Thirty-two, complete with his white coat and ear tag, stood in the doorway of the closet. His gun- or one of his guns, at least- was still bright on the tip, cooling down from the shot he’d used to destroy the doorknob.

“Yes, obviously,” Thirty-two replied tersely. He bent, and took Autumn’s arm. “Hurry. If we go now, I’ll be able to keep to my orders.”

“I- wait! What about my friends?”  Autumn protested, pulling against Thirty-two’s grip.

Thirty-two gave her a frustrated look. “What about them?”

“You have to help them too!”

“Um, s-sir?” Autumn’s teacher asked nervously, probably eyeing Thirty-two’s gun. “If you don’t mind, um, answering this, but who are you exactly?”

Thirty-two turned his frustrated look on the adult man, not seeming like he had any patience for this. He replied in a clipped manner, “I’m the combat bodyguard assigned to the Smiths and Sanchez family. Rick Sanchez, more specifically. I’m here to escort Autumn Smith back to her mother and grandfather. I have orders.”

“Um- wha-?”

“We don’t have time for this,” Thirty-two said, ignoring Autumn’s teacher completely. “Autumn, we’re leaving.”

“No!” Autumn exclaimed, pulling herself free of Thirty-two’s hand. She stood defiantly in front of him, arms crossed. “We’re not going anywhere without everyone else!”

Thirty-two looked down at her, and she watched his eye twitch.

“First nonlethal tactic orders, now _this,”_ He muttered under his breath. Then, taking a deep breath, “Autumn, _please_ come with me.”

“Good for you, trying to use nice words like mom told you to,” Autumn praised him. “But no. Not without my friends an’ my teacher. You have to bring them with us.”

Thirty-two looked at her, and then he glared at the other kids hiding behind Autumn. She heard one of them squeak with fear.

There was a long pause, then Thirty-two ground out, “Do. I _have to.”_

“ _Yes,”_ Autumn said stubbornly. She also thought that Thirty-two sounded a lot like a frustrated kid, considering the wordless grumble he made after she said that.

“Fine! _Fine!”_ He snapped. “All of you, on your feet. If I have to do this, then we’re doing this _correctly.”_

Autumn grinned, and took Thirty-two’s distraction as a chance to hug him. He froze, standing completely still as she clung to him.

“Thank you,” She whispered, giving him a good squeeze.

“I- uh. Yes. You’re welcome.” He replied, patting her head awkwardly. “You can let go now. Please.”

Autumn squeezed him one more time, and then let him go like he’d asked. Her other dimensional brother- which he totally was, even if he kept insisting he was just her bodyguard- gave her a confused look, like he did often, and then brushed past her to continue organizing Autumn’s classmates.

It took another few seconds- during which Thirty-two gave all of Autumn’s friends more death glares- and then they were being herded out into the hallway. Autumn’s teacher protested only once about being bossed around, then he stopped talking because Thirty-two gave him a _look_. And also flashed his gun. And also might’ve whispered something to her teacher that Autumn couldn’t hear, and made the man go pale and meeble a bit.

She’d have to tell grandpa Rick again that Thirty-two was being mean to people. They needed to keep working on that.

No one was in the hallways that Thirty-two quietly marched them down, thankfully. And as they kept going Autumn only saw Thirty-two twitch his gun once. That meant that no one was anywhere nearby. Good.

As they came to the end of the hallway, right in front of the emergency exit, Autumn stopped Thirty-two by tugging on his sleeve.

“What now?” He whispered, looking down at her. He still seemed frustrated.

“What about everyone else?” Autumn asked, because the rest of her school was probably still in trouble. “Aren’t you going to go back for them too?”

“You’re my only priority,” Thirty-two replied, shoving the emergency exit open and then shoving the five other students plus their teacher out of it. They scampered off without complaint, heading straight for the waiting policemen outside. “I have orders to retrieve you, and no one else,” He listed off, sounding kind of robotic as he did. “Nonlethal parameters preferred, but if worse came to worst, I am permitted to use force.”

“But-”

“The police will handle everything else,” Thirty-two continued, starting to push Autumn out the door. “Now move, your mother and grandfather are waiting outside and I’m sure they’re both very anxious for your return.”

“I won’t go!” Autumn said, digging her heels in against the linoleum. “You have to help everyone else, before someone gets hurt!”

“They’re not a part of my orders-”

“Then I’m giving you new ones!” Autumn said, spinning around to face Thirty-two. He eyed her narrowly, but Autumn kept going. “I-I order you to go back and rescue everyone else! It’s not fair if it’s just me!”

Thirty-two looked at her. “You don’t have that authority over me.”

“I’m giving it to myself then!”

There was that twitch again. Thirty-two might need to get that looked at.

 _“Please.”_ Thirty-two said, probably trying for a response Autumn would listen to.

“Please?” Autumn echoed, giving her best puppy eyes.

She heard someone yelling her name. That was probably her mom.

“Thirty-two, please?” Autumn asked again, reaching out to grab the hand that wasn’t clutching a gun. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Thirty-two’s face struggled with which expression it was trying to make- frustration, exasperation, one that Autumn didn’t quite catch- until finally he closed his eyes, and then opened them again with an emotionless mask.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” He said, pulling his hand out of Autumn’s. “Now go to your parent and grandparent. Your mother is giving me a displeased look and seems ready to break the police line.”

“Thank you,” Autumn said, letting him push her the rest of the way out the doors.

Thirty-two didn’t answer, shutting the door behind her and melting it shut with his laser as policemen ran towards them both.

Autumn was swept off her feet by a policeman, and before she knew it, deposited right into her mom’s arms. Autumn barely got her feet on the ground, before her mom and her grandpa were all over her.

 _“Oh god-_ Autumn, Autumn baby, are you hurt anywhere? You didn’t meet any- any of those men, right?” Autumn’s mom said, petting Autumn’s hair as she checked her over. She was crying a little.

Autumn shook her head. “No, we were in a closet the whole time, and then Thirty-two came and got us! He said you guys sent him.”

Her mom made a distressed sound, and pulled Autumn into a tight hug.

“That’s right,” Grandpa Rick said, sliding his arms around Autumn and her mom. “Soon as we heard, we rushed over. He, uh, d-demanded we let him in, even though the police didn’t want him to. He, uh, almost shot one.”

“Really?” Autumn gasped, angling her head to look up at her grandfather. “He seemed so upset that he had to do this though.”

“Speaking of,” Her mom said, wiping a few of her tears away. “Where did he go?”

“I told him to go get everyone else,” Autumn explained.

“You- what?” Grandpa Rick said, blinking behind his glasses in confusion. “And he actually l-listened to you?”

“I did say please.”

“Oh god. I-I hope he’ll remember I told him not to kill anyone.”

“Don’t worry,” Autumn said, reaching up to pat her grandpa’s cheek. “He grumbled about that too, so I think he does.”

“Oh honey, how are you being so calm about all this?” Autumn’s mom asked, petting her hair still.

“I knew someone would come get us, and someone did,” Autumn replied truthfully. “Also! If the police didn’t come for us, then you or grandpa Rick or Summer would’ve come in and beat everyone up. Also Thirty-two.”

“Not your father?” Her mom asked, giving her a weak smile.

“Daddy means well, but I don’t think so. He screams at even just scary movies too much.”

Her grandfather made choked laughing sound, and her mother shook her head.

“I think he’d be a bit hurt to hear that, dear.”

“I still love him though, even if he can’t fight a bunch of people to save me.”

Autumn then jumped as shouting started up behind them, towards the school, and breaking glass was heard.

“O-oh. That would be Thirty-two’s work,” Grandpa Rick said, pursing his lips. “I don’t know h-how well the police are going to t-take this.”

“You said no killing though, so it’s okay, right?” Autumn asked.

Her mom tightened her hug around Autumn, and sighed. “Not quite, honey. I think we’re going to have a lot of explaining to do later.”

Later came pretty quick, because all the men that had been walking around Autumn’s school with guns were tossed one by one out the windows. Then everyone who’d been inside was brought out, because the guns had been confiscated and the pale and terrified men were pushed into squad cars.

Thirty-two came marching out of the school right after, ignoring the shouts the police sent at him, and came to stand in front of Autumn’s grandpa.

“Mission complete, sir,” Thirty-two said, saluting grandpa Rick.

“I-I suppose so, yes. You didn’t…?”

“No sir. Nonlethal parameters met and carried out.”

“Well, that’s something then. I-I guess it’s time to talk with these, um, kind officers here…  Uh. Yes, sir, he’s with us. No I’m sure that’s a toy gun… he-he’s my grandson, you see…”

Autumn wiggled out of her mom’s arms, and slipped around to grab Thirty-two’s hand again while their grandpa kept talking to the officers about military academies.

“Thank you,” Autumn said, repeating herself for the third time that day.

Thirty-two gave her a long look, and then glanced at their joined hands. Then back at her.

“I. I am happy you’re unhurt.” He said finally. It looked like those words had been very difficult for him to say, so Autumn gave his hands a good squeeze.

“You too,” Autumn said happily. “I’m glad they didn’t hurt you either.”

Thirty-two pursed his lips- a lot like how grandpa Rick would when he was stressed- and he looked away again.

He took his hand back from Autumn, but not before she felt him give just the tiniest squeeze back. That tiny action made Autumn grin.

It took them a long, long time to finally go home, but eventually they  were allowed to leave, and Autumn figured the day hadn’t been completely bad. No one had died, and Thirty-two hadn’t killed anyone! All good things!

Her mom and grandpa and dad seemed to think that things still needed to be stressed over, but Autumn didn’t let them bring her mood down.

She pulled Thirty-two into the living room, while everyone was in the kitchen discussing adult things, and made him sit down to watch TV. He let her, and only grumbled a little bit under his breath when she turned on a family friendly movie.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am back because someone left a wonderful comment and gave me inspiration to write a couple things more.
> 
> expect another chapter in a short while, bc that person's idea was lovely and i want to make it real.

“Okay, foot down time. He can’t stay here,” Jerry said, very firmly, and crossing his arms. “He’s a gun wielding, trigger happy hoodlum and I will _not_ have him in our house.”

Beth steepled her fingers, and gave him one of the looks she only ever gave to him. The _‘okay honey, but here’s the thing’_ look. To confirm this, his wife then said, “Okay honey, but here’s the thing…”

Jerry tapped his foot irritably, and waited for Beth continued. She sighed, and did. “We _can’t_ get rid of him. He’s our son.”

“I don’t _have_ a son, Beth,” Jerry reminded her, because he _didn’t,_ and all this interdimensional nonsense was- was _nonsense._ “I have two wonderful daughters, and _not_ a crazy child soldier for a kid. He has to go, before he turns on us all!”

“Jerry.” Beth said, her tone getting stern. “He’s here to _protect us,_ not shoot us in our sleep.”

“We don’t know that!” Jerry exclaimed. “He could do it any one of these nights, and we’d never see it coming.”

“Jerry, please…” Beth crossed her own arms, and completed the standoff they were having. “He saved Autumn, he’s saved _all_ of us multiple times. Thirty-two is a… admittedly strange kid, but somewhere out there in the multiverse, he’s _our_ strange kid. And he’s done nothing but keep us safe the whole time he’s been here.”

“He almost _stabbed me_ with a _butter knife. Twice.”_

“And both times you’d snuck up on him, and should have known someone who’s trained his whole life to fight isn’t going to respond well to that.”

Jerry didn’t budge, and huffed shortly as he turned his head away from his wife. Beth sighed, and he saw her pinch the bridge of her nose. “Look, Jerry, I know this has been a hard transition for you, but we’ve all just got to get used to it. Thirty-two isn’t leaving our house, and I won’t force my dad to- to _order_ him to.”

Jerry heard the grimace in Beth’s voice, speaking about the whole ‘orders’ thing, and grimaced himself. “I’m still not comfortable with him being in our home, or around our kids.”

“Well. Maybe you just need to get to know him better,” Beth said, stepping over to jerry and giving his shoulder a squeeze. “Take him with you for grocery shopping today. Have a little father-son bonding time.”

“He’s not my son,” Jerry said stubbornly, ignoring the fact that Thirty-two had bits and pieces of Beth and him both. Cheeks bones and skin tones and similarly shaped ears.

Beth gave him a tired look, and rubbed his shoulder. “Maybe not, but he is a family member. So to speak. It’d be best if you two at least managed to get along.”

Jerry scowled, but grumbled out, “ _Fine,_ but he can’t bring his guns.”

“I only require a knife at the most, Jerry.”

Jerry jolted, knocking into the kitchen counter, and _definitely_ not making a squeaky shriek as he did. Thirty-two was standing in the doorway from the living room, wearing his typical blank and bored look. He was dressed in normal clothing for once, but the militant buzz cut to the sides of his hair, and the literal dog tag on his ear, ruined the illusion of normalcy.

Thirty-two then produced five guns from thin air, and walked over to place them on the counter. He held up his empty hands, and drawled, “There, now I am disarmed of my ‘guns’. Is this satisfactory?”

Jerry shot a look at his wife, mouthing _“gun wielding hoodlum”,_ and Beth only shrugged. Jerry grit his teeth, and ground out, “Sure. We’ll call it that. Get in the car; I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Thank you,” Beth whispered as Thirty-two exited the room, leaning upwards to give Jerry a quick peck on the cheek.

Jerry gave the space-age weaponry on the counter one last look, before kissing his wife back, and marching towards the front door for what he _hoped_ wasn’t a grocery trip headed for disaster.

“Wait,” Jerry said, halting his movements to sit down in the driver’s seat. The keys were in his hand, but Thirty-two was already in the passenger’s seat. “How did you even get in here? I didn’t unlock the car until I came outside.”

“Earth vehicles are very easy to break into,” Thirty-two supplied in a monotone, like it wasn’t a big deal that he’d just broken into _Jerry’s car._ “You should let me get it upgraded.”

“Um. How about _no?”_ Jerry said indignantly, because this was _his car_ , and he’d already been fending Rick off it for years.

Thirty-two scoffed, and Jerry tried to remind himself he was doing this for his wife.

 

 

 

As Jerry’s luck would have it, he chose the _one grocery store_ that was going to experience a firefight in the middle of the day.

Maybe there _was_ something to gun laws, if only to prevent a group of crazy people from holding up a Walmart. And Jerry’s day. He’d just come here to get some cheap groceries, was that too much to ask?

Of course it was, because nothing was ever simple with his family anymore, _especially_ when Thirty-two was involved in any way. He should have expected something as bizarre and terrible to happen, walking into a Walmart that two different groups had decided to rob at the same time. If it hadn’t been for Thirty-two, they would have been caught in the cluster of people being held hostage, while the store workers rushed around gathering every cent they could find.

Another round of bullets went into the ceiling, and Jerry was shoved deeper under the customer service desk they were hiding behind. He didn’t struggle as Thirty-two held him still, the little hoodlum’s eyes narrowed and steely as the fight continued. Jerry didn’t really feel like attracting that glare towards himself, not while Thirty-two was in full combat mode.

“Permission to engage?” Thirty-two asked suddenly, completely unruffled as the shouting continued outside their hiding spot.

“Uh-” Jerry couldn’t think around the fact that there were guns being fired all over the place, or the quiet sobbing of hostages outside his vision range.

Thirty-two glared at him, looking at Jerry like _he_ was the issue here. “Rick gave me specific orders before we left that I wasn’t to engage in any fights unless you deemed so. So give me it already, otherwise one these people are going to start targeting bystanders on purpose, and possibly _you_. _Permission to engage?”_

“Uh- yes? P-permission granted?” Jerry stuttered, flinching as the one of the gun toting maniacs yelled obscenities and fired at the ceiling.

Some of the wild look in Thirty-two’s expression lifted, and he seemed _relieved_ he was allowed to go charging into a gun fight. With no gun at that.

Except, apparently that was _wrong,_ because Thirty-two then produced a sleek firearm from the jacket he was wearing, and cocked it. As it lit up, humming in his hands, Jerry pointed accusingly. _“You said you left all your guns at home_!” He hissed, torn between being happy they had a defense, and unsettled that Thirty-two had been armed this entire time and could have _shot Jerry._

“I lied,” Thirty-two replied emotionlessly, flicking the safety off his weapon.

“You can’t lie to me! Not about something like this!”

Thirty-two turned a glare back on Jerry, and Jerry’s indignation died at the look. Thirty-two didn’t seem like he was in any mood for an argument; not while he held a gun in his hands, and had the same look he’d had when he’d dispatched a hobo from attacking them all in a parking lot weeks ago.

“Under the circumstances, Jerry, you only hold proxy command over me,” Thirty-two said tonelessly. “I only take orders from a Jerry if a Rick tells me to, and you’re lucky that one has. And, I am only required to obey them to a point. Jerry’s are typically not to be trusted with power of any sort, and so, if I deem it a hazard to Rick Sanchez’s family, I can lie to you or even disobey a direct order. You demanding I give up my firearms was a hazard, so I lied.”

Jerry’s mouth hung open, because for one thing the _orders_ thing continued to be uncomfortable to hear, and for another _what was that about Jerry’s not being trusted with power-?_

“Now stay here,” Thirty-two said, moving out from under the desk and preparing to charge out. His expression was set, and a sharp look had entered his eyes. “I’ll have this over within five minutes, and then you can go retrieve Autumn’s frozen waffles.”

Then, Thirty-two leapt over the desk’s counter, and vanished out of Jerry’s sight. The shouting outside Jerry’s hiding place rose up again, and he covered his mouth to muffle his whimpers as shots were fired.

His wife was going to kill him if Thirty-two got himself killed, and Jerry wasn’t sure if he’d fight that or not.

Thirty-two’s blank, steady gaze floated through Jerry’s mind as screams started. The kid always unsettled him, but how he looked ready to _die_ was just- _horrible._

It wasn’t until long after the gunfire died off, and someone knocked on the top of the desk, did Jerry realize that it was over. When the knock came, he froze up, and tried not to breathe loudly.

“Jerry. I have the waffles. Come pay for them.”

“Th-Thirty-two?” Jerry asked, peering hesitantly out from his hiding place.

Thirty-two was leaning over the counter, and did indeed have boxes of Eggo waffles in his hands. “Yes. Come out now. The police and ambulances are on their way, and we should bring these home before they melt.”

Jerry slowly stood up, surveying the damage his- unwanted house guest? Neighborhood hoodlum? Alternate universe son??- had caused to the area.

The hostages were all milling around in various states of shock, only a few making a run for the doors. The two groups of would-be robbers were on the floor, legs and arms going very wrong directions. There wasn’t any blood Jerry could see, though he did notice that the regular guns the men had been using were melting steadily onto the linoleum.

Jerry saw that no one was actively dying, and that there were stares aimed at Thirty-two and his collection of waffles. Wary stares, and more than a few of the stare-ees holding phones to their ears, cupping their hands around the receiver as they spoke rapidly into it. Time to cut their losses, then, since Jerry didn’t feel like calling his wife from a holding cell in the precinct.

“We’ll just- come back and pay for those,” Jerry suggested quietly, struggling to get over the counter. Thirty-two didn’t seem fazed by the prospect of stealing five boxes of frozen food, and that didn’t surprise Jerry in the least.

He and Thirty-two made their escape, and even more unsurprisingly, no one tried to stop him or the crazy soldier kid following beside him.

He started the car soon as they were in, reversing as fast as he could, and getting them out of the parking lot just as a swarm of police vehicles entered from the other end. Thirty-two held his boxes of waffles tightly as they swerved into traffic, and didn’t make any protest as Jerry opted to take a road they usually didn’t choose to get them home. It looked like the area was about to become one big traffic jam, and he didn’t feel like dealing with that while his nerves were still very, very frayed.

He darted glances subtly at Thirty-two on and off, wondering just how many other weapons he had concealed on his person. And how many times he’d lied to Jerry about _very important things,_ like whether or not he was armed.

Jerry was in a small space with a person who had just downed seven full grown men in mere minutes, and he was _not on board with that._

“You don’t like me,” Thirty-two said abruptly, making Jerry’s grip on the steering wheel spasm.

Jerry scrambled to make things less- uncomfortable? No, that didn’t even begin to describe how not okay this felt. “I- what-? Pssh, _no,_ I mean- n-not really-?”

“You don’t.” Thirty-two stated, cutting off Jerry’s harried rambling. He turned an even look on Jerry, and while the light they were waiting at changed to green, Jerry couldn’t look away to drive forwards.

“That’s fine,” Thirty-two said, continuing in his usual dull tone. “You aren’t required to. I’m only here to protect the Sanchez family, and by extension, the Smith family. That being you. You don’t have to like me, but I’ll have to ask that you don’t continue to interfere with my job. Rick is my priority, and your needs are not. Are we clear?”

Thirty-two’s voice might not have had any particular tone, but he didn’t leave any room for argument regardless. Jerry bit back a sigh, and finally reacted to the impatient honking behind them. As he drove the car forwards, Thirty-two didn’t say anything else, and seemed to think the conversation was over.

He had a blooming bruise though, on his cheek. Jerry hadn’t even noticed it in the rush to get out of Walmart, but apparently Thirty-two had gotten hurt while he took out the shooters. And he hadn’t said a word about the injury.

Did he get hurt anywhere else? Jerry had a feeling even if he had, Thirty-two wouldn’t say anything about it. His wariness of the- not hoodlum, the _kid_ in his passenger’s seat softened, and he felt a bit bad for how he’d been acting. Thirty-two wasn’t even the same age as Summer, and yet he acted like a full grown soldier.

Jerry might not have ever claimed to be the best parent, or even the most sensible one, but he wasn’t so inept that he couldn’t tell when something was wrong with how a kid had been raised.

“I don’t…” Jerry started, trying to figure out where he was going with this. “I don’t _dis_ like you. You just… make me nervous, is all. I’ve got two daughters, a wife, and a father in-law living in my house. I have to keep them safe, and you just… showed up one day, with a bunch of space clones of Rick, and you’re- you’re not a normal kid. I don’t know what to do other than feel nervous, especially since you walk around with knives and guns and… well, you did almost stab me those few times.”

“You startled me. I apologize.” Thirty-two stated, more than said. He didn’t sound particularly remorseful, but that seemed like the most Jerry was going to get out of him.

Jerry sighed, and changed lanes to avoid the worst of the traffic. Well, at least he’d gotten a semblance of apology. And, hadn’t been shot trying to buy frozen waffles, and had gotten said frozen waffles despite needing to avoid getting shot. Autumn would be happy, even though Jerry felt like he was going to need a long, long rest in his room when they got home.

Thirty-two had gone quiet again, eyeing the cars as they passed them by. Jerry didn’t know where he’d put his gun again, but he didn’t doubt that he was ready to pull it out again at a moment’s notice. And maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing, considering how Jerry’s life had been going lately.

“Thank you for not letting me get shot,” Jerry said, figuring he owed Thirty-two that much, even if he was still quietly miffed at the Jerry’s being untrustworthy comment. “And for saving my daughter last week. I… I don’t know what I would have done if she’d gotten hurt.”

Thirty-two glanced over at him for a brief second, and then shrugged as he looked back out the window. “I was just doing my job. And…” He trailed off, and for a moment Jerry thought he was done. But, as they turned the corner onto their home block, Thirty-two quietly said, “…I wouldn’t have liked it if Autumn got hurt either.”

The moment the car stopped, Thirty-two opened his door and climbed out, slamming it shut behind him and marching towards the house.

Jerry sighed, and slumped in his seat. He was supposed to be having a nice day off from work, to spend time with his family, and instead he felt like he’d shot every nerve he had and used up every ounce of his energy. He still wasn’t sure about Thirty-two being in his home, and he still wasn’t about how to approach the kid.

And, Jerry was probably never setting foot in that Walmart again, but at least they’d gotten the waffles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> side note: rick sanchez in canon is a bucket of dicks, and i like soft rick a lot better. still gonna watch the new season tho, bc gotta keep up with the disasters as they happen, lmao.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, an update.

32’s vision swayed for a moment, before he snapped it back to focus. Even though his throat hurt, and his head felt dizzier than the last time he’d gone through poison resistance training, he stayed standing at attention.

He wondered where Beth had moved his jacket again. It was irritating, how stubborn she was about him not wearing his uniform. He… appreciated the new clothes he’d been given, but they just weren’t the same as his standard issues clothing. Not as durable, and the textures too soft for him to be completely comfortable with.

He’d lost track of what Soft Rick was saying. Fuck. He needed to focus or he’d get in trouble.

“Thirty-two? Did you hear me?” Soft Rick asked, setting down the beaker he’d been holding. 32 wasn’t sure what as in it. Something above his education level, likely. 32 had no idea what Soft Rick was asking him. That was- that was a problem.

“Yes,” 32 replied, lying through his teeth in hopes he’d avoid reprimanding. Soft Rick hadn’t done so yet, excluding the few times 32 had thought he’d actually been doing his job- someone attacked you, you attacked them back, it wasn’t that complicated- but there was always the chance. Rick’s tended to have short tempers for everyone, especially Morty’s that weren’t keeping up with things.

Soft Rick furrowed his brow, and pushed his glasses up his nose. Why was he looking at 32 like that. He’d given the desirable answer. “A-are you alright?” Soft Rick asked out of the blue. “You look s-sort of peaky.”

Peaky.

Ridiculous. 32 looked no such thing. He was in perfect working order.

“I am- fine.” 32 replied shortly, repressing what felt like the need to cough. He didn’t succeed completely, and the back of his head ached at the slight jerk.

Soft Rick frowned and stood up from his chair, stepping away from the lab table. He crossed the garage floor towards 32, where 32 had positioned himself so he could see all exits and windows. 32 remained perfectly still as Soft Rick raised a hand, and put it on his forehead.

“You’re b-burning up!” Soft Rick exclaimed, and what. No he wasn’t. 32 was perfectly fine.

“No I’m not,” 32 said, even as his chest attempted to shiver. He was not cold, either. He was perfectly. Fine. Even if his usual sleep cycle hadn’t felt like it’d been enough that morning, or the one prior.

“My hand, a-and approximate doctorate of h-human biology s-says otherwise,” Soft Rick said, and he frowned deeper. “You’re sick, Thirty-two.”

32’s stomach twisted, and he locked up his body as it tried to slump and shiver. “No. I am not.”

“H-how long have you been f-feeling ill? Thirty-two, y-you have to tell us these th-things,” Soft Rick said, and as he dropped his hand, 32’s stomach went with it. He hadn’t informed anyone of his- not illness, his _unusual lethargy-_ because he wasn’t sick. Sick Morty’s weren’t allowed to keep their postings, and he was just becoming accustomed to this one. He might sometimes miss being in the barracks with other Morty’s, but 32 didn’t want- didn’t want to go back. Not just yet.

“You need t-to lie down, _now,”_ Soft Rick said, breaking into the haze of 32’s wandering thoughts. “Thirty-two, you’re s-swaying on your feet, you sh-should have told someone-”

“No!” 32 exclaimed before he could stop himself, snapping his jaw shut and clenching it. Shit. Shit shit shit- you weren’t supposed to mouth off at Rick’s, let alone full out _refuse_ _one-_ “I’m perfectly functional, sir,” 32 said, attempting to backtrack, lessen his punishment. “I’m. I’m a bit tired is all.”

Soft Rick- who no longer looked so soft- gave him a stern frown, and 32 resisted the urge to cough again.

“You’re going to f-fight me on this, aren’t you?” Soft Rick said, glasses flashing in the garage lights.

The reflex to say _“No, sir.”_ conflicted with 32’s desire to remain labeled functional and useful. He struggled between the two answers, and couldn’t make up his mind about which would be worse.

Soft Rick sighed, and put his hand on 32’s shoulder. “A-alright, if you’re going to be like th-that, I’ll just o-order you… to come sit down on the couch.”

_Damn it._

32 scowled the whole way back into the house, and sat begrudgingly on the couch. The rest of the Smith/Sanchez family was still out, gone to amusement park or whatever, and so it was just 32 and Soft Rick. Better for 32, since that meant he only needed to pull together enough focus to keep an eye on one person, rather than five.

Soft Rick instructed 32 to remain on the couch, and disappeared into the kitchen to prepare something called ‘chicken noodle soup’. It wouldn’t be the strangest thing 32 had ever ingested; though he did half wonder who had decided turning a chicken into a noodle was a worthwhile endeavour

He forced himself to remain sitting upright, and refused to let the exhaustion dragging on his senses pull him off task. He told himself his head did not hurt, he did not feel cold, and his vision wasn’t shifting around strangely. He. Was. Fine.

He’d been through worse than this. He’d had his foot sliced off and reattached in the same hour. He’d tested his resistance to over thirty types of poisons. He’d gone five days without food or water on a desert planet, during a mission to lead enemies astray while the Rick’s he’d been assigned to at the time escaped.

He could handle an off day. This was nothing. He had a mission and he wouldn’t fail. Not when he actually… _liked_ living with his current Rick…

He was… completely… fine…

 

 

 

32’s eyes opened again later, blurry and unfocused, when something cool touched his forehead.

“Shh, Thirty-two, i-it’s just me,” Soft Rick said from somewhere distant. “You fell asleep.”

“ _Mgh,”_ 32 managed to mumble, dull reflexes trying to fend off the object against his skin and failing. When had he lain down? _Why_ was he lying down? He needed to get up- he had a _job_ to do, a Rick to protect, a stupid, soft Rick with no sense of danger or paranoia, just like his stupid, soft daughter and her family…

He was going to get in trouble for sleeping on the job. That wasn’t allowed. He was only supposed to sleep in the barracks, with all the other Combat Morty’s.

It’d been a while since he saw them, his bunkmates. He wondered how many had died, been drafted to new positions, or been promoted since then. He wondered if any of them still remembered him at all.

 _Focus,_ he reminded himself, trying to get out from under a- a blanket??- and sit up. He needed- needed to do his job-

“Oh no, you’re b-burning up still, and not going anywhere until that f-fever breaks,” Soft Rick said, pushing 32 back down with only one hand. Ridiculous, 32 was supposed to be a top of the line Combat Morty. This was just sad, being held down by an unfit Rick who had a _bun_ and a _belly_ for goodness sake. And _glasses_.

32’s arms wouldn’t cooperate though, and his head felt like he’d been bitten by one of the unspeakable creatures from dimension B-523 again. Sickness was in him, then. Not long until he was decommissioned if he didn’t just _get up_ already.

_“Shhhh, Thirty-two. It’s- it’s alright. Just take a nap; you’re n-not going to be decommissioned if y-you take care of yourself. You’re safe.”_

_Lies,_ 32 thought distantly. Combat Morty’s were only safe in barracks and cells, and he was in the field. If he was sick, then there was a strong chance he’d simply be put down if it was too much of a bother to nurse him back to health. Infinite dimensions, infinite replacements for a Combat Morty who failed his job.

Still, even with that knowledge, 32’s thoughts got increasingly hazy and he couldn’t even lift his arms anymore. The cool object on his head- it was wet too, he realized distantly- stayed where it was, as someone drew the blanket up onto him again.

32’s eyes dragged themselves closed, and he slipped into black again.

 

 

 

Rick sat on the end of the couch, watching the steady rise and fall of Thirty-two’s sides. He’d only been gone a few minutes to make instant soup, and he’d come back to find the kid passed out already.

Rick sighed, and pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes.

 _Decommissioned,_ Thirty-two had been muttering about. He was scared of being decommissioned like some machine because he’d gotten sick.

Rick felt sick, sicker than the teen unconscious beside him. The teen that insisted on having a military buzz cut, an identification tag on his ear, in case he _died_ and needed to be _identified,_ and still carried around alien weapons like it wasn’t disturbing to do so.

He couldn’t fathom doing that to a child- and Thirty-two _was_ a child _,_ whether he’d agree or not- let alone one who was supposedly his grandson. How far had his other selves drifted from morality and empathy to even consider that idea?

Too far. Far enough they’d taken hundreds- if not thousands- of the boy in his living room, and trained him to think like a replaceable object, one meant to live and die before he ever saw adulthood.

No wonder Thirty-two had kept quiet about being ill. It was either that or something much worse than staying standing through a fever.

Rick sighed, and reached out to pat Thirty-two’s blanket covered foot, hearing the kid mutter in his sleep.

He’d have soup ready for Thirty-two whenever the fever broke and he woke up, and as many reassurances as Rick could slip in before the kid gave him blank, unreceiving look again. It was the least he could do, for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ey, theangeloffate, you got good ideas. i'm probably going to borrow a couple more if you don't mind. <3
> 
> thanks for all the readership, folks. we're nearly to 100!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over 200 kudos?? on MY rick and morty fanfiction?? illegal!!
> 
> how dare you all like this stupid self-indulgent fic. how dare.

32, if only because everyone else had had places to be, ended up babysitting Autumn.

Which, in his opinion, wasn’t the worst job he’d ever been ordered to do. It certainly involved a lot less physical agony than most.

32 remembered quietly to himself that he hadn’t had one of those jobs in a long while, since being assigned to his atypical Soft Rick. He felt distantly grateful for that. It wasn’t that he was  _afraid_  of the usual injuries Combat Mortys ended up with- 32 hadn’t been afraid, not since he was half a Rick’s size and learning to steady his hand to shoot- but. He wasn’t exactly in a rush to go back to them.

He could admit to himself that he enjoyed not having to fight through injuries or grit through the pain of medical procedures. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, though.

….maybe Autumn. Maybe he would tell that to Autumn if she asked, because she was small and as nonthreatening as someone could get without being a baby and there for noisy and useless.

Autumn was still noisy, though. Like at that moment. Noisy and nosy.

“ _Please?”_  She asked a fifth time, clasping her hands and giving 32 pleading doe eyes.

32 grumbled and looked at the ceiling instead of her stupidly big eyes. He disliked their effect on him. “ _Why?”_  He said, risking being rude only because no one else was around.

“Because you  _never_  tell me about the Citadel!” Autumn said, leaning over the abandoned card game she’d been making 32 play. 32 thought that poker would have been more entertaining than go-fish, but Jerry had forbidden them from playing it when he overheard their choice of activity. 32 would have ignored the rule as soon as Jerry left, had Soft Rick not been there to see and agree with the rule being implemented.

“It’s the Citadel,” 32 said, still refusing to look at Autumn’s eyes. He would not give into their pleading look. He refused. “what more do you need to know about it?”

“That explains  _nothing_  about what happens there. What’s it like there? Is it really just nothing but thirty-twos and grandpa Ricks?”

“Yes, duh,” 32 said. Autumn giggled and he made the mistake of glancing at her.

Dammnit. His training covered this kind of persuasion. He should’ve be able to just say no and be done with it.

Autumn was obviously waiting for him to continue, and 32 bit down on a sigh.

“The Citadel is run by the council. The council is a collective of the most powerful and qualified Rick’s through the allied dimensions. They keep the Citadel in perfect working order by instating individual working classes and job categories. I belong to the enforcement and protection division- specifically the Combat Mortys. Obviously, since I’m a Morty.” 32 paused, reviewing his provided information, and then added, “My serial number is thirty-two, from the sector four bunker,” just to be thorough.

Autumn stared at him for a moment, nodding slightly, and then said, “Yeah, that still tells me nothing about what it’s like there.”

32 frowned. “That was plenty of information.”

“Uh, no? I meant like, normal people stuff, not a bunch of military-state regiment propaganda.”

32 stared at Autumn. She shrugged. “Summer got me to be her test audience for a social paper. It’s def more interesting than what they teach at  _my_  school.”

32 nodded. That was true enough; he’d seen Autumn’s assignments and they didn’t seem nearly challenging enough for a Sanchez-Smith child. But on the other hand.

“It’s not propaganda,” 32 said, frowning still. “That was basic information for what the Citadel is.”

Autumn hummed in a way that said _yeah, sure._ “Okay, then what’s the less basic stuff you know? What did you do when you were a kid there? Did you have a family, or your own grandpa Rick? Where’d you live in the Citadel; a house like ours or an apartment, or maybe a houseboat? Those are neat.”

32 remembered nothing of the original Smith family or dimension he’d come from. He didn’t know their dimensional number, either. All he recalled was the barracks and his training, surrounded and instructed by Ricks that were never his own.

Combat Mortys were assigned as needed, no permanent Ricks. That was for other categories of Citadel educated Mortys. 32 had had his barrack of other sector four Combat Mortys, the immediate overseeing Rick of their bunker and section, and that was it.

32 told that all to Autumn in clipped words, and she frowned.

“You really didn’t have a family?” She asked, edging closer and squishing their cards with her knees.

“Combat Mortys don’t have families,” 32 said plainly. “We have jobs, assignments.”

“…that sounds kinda lonely,” Autumn said, giving him a look 32 took a moment to recognize. Pity.

Why? That was just the role of a Combat Morty in the Citadel. There were millions of other Mortys in the multiverse and the Citadel- the Ricks couldn’t very well place them  _all_  with families, especially with the high mortality rates of the enforcement and protection Mortys. That would just be a pointless action.

“It’s not,” 32 said, instead of the rest of his thoughts, because Beth and Jerry and Soft Rick had all started giving him Talks about what he could say to Autumn or not. Talking about mortality rates of any kind hadn’t been a subject he was allowed to discuss.

Autumn was giving him a dubious look still. 32 attempted to banish it. “I had my bunkmates. This assignment is actually one of the few I’ve had space to myself.” The large walk-in closet near Soft Rick’s room was more than spacious enough for 32. He was more used to five by three bunk-beds. “And we never had time to be ‘lonely’. That’s not productive to anything other than whiny idiotic misery.”

32 remembered very clearly a Rick yelling that at a newer recruit- recently rescued from his ruined dimension- because the greenhorn Combat Morty had been asking to be allowed to return to his home dimension, that he was missing his family and friends and was  _lonely._

32 had thought that Combat Morty was being as whiny as the Rick said he was. There were hundreds of Mortys and Ricks all around them- how could anyone be lonely packed in with all those others?

“That’s a little mean, thirty-two,” Autumn said.

“Its a simple statement of the truth,” 32 sniffed.

Autumn rolled her eyes at him, again disbelieving. 32 ignored it as she thought over her next questions. “…what were your bunkmates like? Do you miss them?”

32 opened his mouth to say it didn’t matter if he did or not, his focus was to be on the assignment and his Rick’s safety and nothing else, but he paused for a moment.

He recalled spending rest periods in his bunker with other Mortys, talking or gambling or roughhousing while no Ricks were watching them. 32 had had multiple bunkmates over the years, the roster changing depending on who was out in the field and if someone was demoted or promoted. He remembered vividly one Combat Morty who had been at least three years older than him, with a wicked thick scar across the right side of his face. They’d been admittedly closer than the other Combat Mortys in the bunker, and 32 had learned some of his best survival skills because of 85′s tips.

32 remembered 85 and his borderline regulation breaking behavior, how he’d talk back at the Ricks and higher ranking Mortys, and 32 remembered how brave and foolish he’d thought 85 was for his antics. How he’d looked up to him.

32 also remembered that 85 had gone on a mission, shortly after seriously breaking protocol and getting himself in detrimental trouble with their superior officers. He hadn’t come back from that mission, and 46 had taken 85′s place in the ranks without skipping a beat.

It'd felt like 85 had never existed at all, once they removed his meager possessions from his bunk.

“Thirty-two?”

32 jerked his head up. He’d drifted off in thought- something that  _never_  happened, not when it would get him dead if he did it in a crucial moment.

Autumn was giving him a worried look. A worried look. Why?

“What.” He grit out, barely stopping it from being snappish.

His alternate universe sibling kept giving him a worried look, and moved to close the small distance between them. Autumn pushed the cards out of the way, thoroughly wrecking their game of go-fish. 32 had been winning, but he didn’t complain. They were her cards. She owned them. She could do whatever she wanted with them, including crushing them into ragged folds with her knees-

Autumn pressed up beside 32, against the couch with him, and wrapped herself around his midsection.

32 froze. What was he supposed to do with that? Why was Autumn even hugging him?  _What?_

“’m sorry you coming here took you away from your friends,” Autumn mumbled into his shirt, increasing the feeling  _what what what_. “You probably miss them.”

32′s hands stayed hovering above Autumn’s shoulders for another few moments, the action of affection still throwing him off balance. Then he gently lowered them to her head, and tentatively patted her.

Autumn’s hair was very soft. He filed that away for later thought.

“I don’t miss them,” 32 said. Combat Mortys didn’t miss their bunkmates. They were lucky to see one another again more than twice. Missing one or twenty out of hundreds was pointless.

Autumn made a disbelieving sound, and something in 32 agreed.

He pushed that something into the furthest edges of his mind, along with the gentle way Soft Rick had taken care of him while he was sick, instead of sending him back and getting a fully functional Combat Morty, and with the increasingly familiar way Autumn would hug him.

He didn’t miss the Citadel. He didn’t miss going on assignments and being injured. Only frothing morons would miss being hurt constantly.

…but maybe he did miss being in a room with other people who all understood what he said and meant without problem. Unlike the Sanchez-Smith family, who gave him confused looks constantly. Maybe he did miss having that ease of communication and interaction, when none of them were on active duty.

Not that it mattered. 32 was here now, and he had an assignment and a Rick. That was all that mattered to him. All that  _should_  matter to him.

“You messed up the cards,” 32 informed Autumn, and he pried her off his side (gently). “I was winning.”

Autumn went somewhat reluctantly, but allowed him to put space between them again. “Uh, you were not winning,” She informed him back, losing the weird pinchy-sad expression she’d had. “I was definitely winning this round.”

“I had three more sets than you. Numbers don’t lie.”

“Well they’re all messed up now and you can’t claim that anymore for sure. Guess we were at a tie and I was about to pull ahead.”

“You’re cheating.”

“Maybe, maybe not. You can’t prove it!”

“…I could get the surveillance footage.”

“You  _wouldn’t.”_

“In the name of fairness, I 'so would'.”

“You’re such a sore loser, thirty-two!”

“I am neither sore nor a loser. I was winning and I’m in peak condition.”

“…I can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’re messing with me.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“ _Thirty-two.”_

32 went back to playing cards. He didn’t think about the Citadel or 85 or how the Sanchez-Smith family he’d been assigned to were his favorite assignment, possibly ever.

He definitely didn’t think about the inevitable point where he would have to leave them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: thank you latest season of rick and morty for giving us that heart shattering and mind blowing episode specifically about the citadel and how fucked up it is. LITERALLY my absolute fave out of the entire series so far and it went HARD.
> 
> further note: yall seen that sauce craze going on? holy shit can this fandom chill out. its fucking sauce. why are you rioting and stabbing over shitty drive-through sauce you can buy in bulk at wal-mart or something.
> 
> further further note: not one of you is allowed to try and explain whatever significance this sauce is supposed to have to me or anyone in this fandom. i don't even use sauce on my nuggets. i don't care.
> 
> furthest note: i'm so sorry i never update this stupid fic. thank you for your unending patience.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning, updates will be sporadic, since I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing here beyond typing out stuff I imagined up for this AU.


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